


Worth the wait

by Builder



Series: Whoa Bessie [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Trans Steve Rogers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Come’ere, Buck.” Steve wraps his arm around James’s shoulders, gentle as the flap of a dove’s wing. His vintage soft t-shirt brushes James’s cheek, burning slightly as it scrapes over stubble, then coming to rest as warm comfort.James nuzzles into him, sick enough to be beyond caring who might be watching and quietly judging. He’s still sensitive about public displays of affection, but today it’s trumped with worry about public displays of illness.





	Worth the wait

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

James hates the waiting room more than anything. It’s worse than the appointments where he’s poked and prodded. Even the long ones with x rays and endless sessions in the MRI machine are better than those that require extended wait times.

“Hey,” Steve says, dropping a hand on one of James’s bouncing knees. He doesn’t say it’s ok. He already knows it’s not.

“Hm,” James answers. He doesn’t slow the tremor. Nervous, he could say. But he doesn’t need to. Steve already knows.

“Not long now,” Steve says, tucking a lock of hair behind James’s ear. He can’t be sure, but at least he’s being positive.

“Hm,” James says again. His stomach’s roiling with nerves, badly enough that he’d rather keep his mouth closed.

“Come’ere, Buck.” Steve wraps his arm around James’s shoulders, gentle as the flap of a dove’s wing. His vintage soft t-shirt brushes James’s cheek, burning slightly as it scrapes over stubble, then coming to rest as warm comfort.

James nuzzles into him, sick enough to be beyond caring who might be watching and quietly judging. He’s still sensitive about public displays of affection, but today it’s trumped with worry about public displays of illness.

“Talk to me,” Steve whispers, his cheek pressed against the top of James’s head. “Tell me how you feel.”

James inhales, holding the breath until the desire to retch makes him blow it back out. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, saliva pushing over his bottom lip as a bitter taste grows at the back of his throat.

“Alright,” Steve reassures him as James gulps back a wave of something thick and disgusting. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” James forces out. “I—sick—“. He jams his closed lips into Steve’s shoulder, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

“Ok, hold on—“ Steve leaps to his feet and somehow keeps hold of James as he yanks over a trash can from the corner of the room.

James wants to thank him, but he’s mislaid his voice along with his depth perception. He lets go an instant too soon and winds up with warm wetness all down his front.

“Ok, there you go.” Steve adjusts James’s shouldes so he’s hunched over the bin, then stands guard with one hand on his back and the other under his chin.

James vomits again, then breaks off with a hack that’s somehow thunderous and pitiful at the same time.

“Alright, Buck. Just let it out.”

“Yeah,” James croaks. Another loose slurry of sick comes up, bringing what feels like half his brain matter and all of his dignity. “I’m sorry,” he forces out, suddenly feeling sympathy for Steve, for everyone in the dank waiting room stuck watching them.

A door opens and closes, and someone else is at his elbow offering water and towels. James shakes his head to both, but Steve’s yes thank you overrides him.

James avoids eye contact, staring instead at the bile collecting in the bottom of the trash bag. Just looking at it makes his stomach convulse all over again.

“Thanks.” Steve’s hands disappear momentarily, then return with a wet napkin he drapes over the back of James’s neck. “He’s just nervous, I think,” he explains in a hushed tone. “He’ll be ok in a minute.” It’s close enough to the truth. Not that James could contradict him if he tried.

“I’m sorry,” he manages again, wiping his eyes with a clumsy fist.

“Hey, no worries,” says the receptionist who brought the towels. “I’ll see about moving you guys up the queue too.”

Steve thanks her again. Calls her sweet. Then he swipes his thumb over James’s mouth and leans in close. “I love you,” he whispers, “no matter what.”

“Hm,” is all James can manage in return, but what he means is thank you. That’s exactly what I need to hear.


End file.
